


Youth

by RubyFiamma



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Yamamoto believes he will be forever young and the one man that convinces him so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grinner_H](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458946) by [Grinner_H](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H). 



> This fic is gifted to the amazing Hiro because I love him, it takes a lot of love for one person to write a notp fic. So. Consider yourself v loved, Hiro. x

> **Youth**

**[** Also inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XG_0iV2B40)]

 

_Youth is easily deceived because it is quick to hope._

-  _Aristotle_

* * *

 

It begins with standing on a ledge, too high to come off from for it's your only salvation now that you no longer have the resolve to live. But it's when the no-good boy with the large, round eyes saves you and tells you there is  _hop_ e that you begin to believe.

It's the smell of the baseball diamond, the warm sun and the air of dirt and sweat and  _perseverance_  that make you feel like you're where you should be. It's the fleeting feelings when you dash from base to base and slide in to home plate that make this age in time seem like an eternal stretch that you never want to leave.

Following that comes good times, friends to call your own and a purpose to  _liv_ e. It's the fireworks and festivals; snowball fights and renewing your love for a long lost sport that inspire your youth. It's the sudden exchange from a bat to a sword that has given you new life.

You meet the man who teaches you how to properly protect your friends; how to be  _better_ at what you already thought you were good at. He teaches you there is ignorance to youth and wisdom in age and you teach him there's more to life than the way of the sword. You teach him there is  _liberation_  in youth, and that he can find it in you.

He becomes your partner in battle, someone you respect, someone you admire and someone you have undoubtedly come to love. It's the way you spar like you've got nothing to lose and the elation you get from the subtle approval on his face when he says with a smirk you can only see as fond,  _Hey trash! You're getting better but you're a hundred years too young to beat me!_ And then you see the slightest twitch of a smile that makes you want to kiss him hard and fast with feverish chaos. 

It's when he shows up at the base looking beautiful and graceful until he opens his mouth, when he comes to collect you for training; in the videos he sends you of all his past battles.  _Learn a technique and master it, trash. It's gotta be the sword before baseball and everything else or you're gonna fucking die._ It's in everything that he says and doesn't say that let's you know he gives a shit. That he might just love you back.

* * *

 

His hair through your fingers, soft and silken and not at all like his personality, is a feeling you'll never forget. It's the promise he's made behind it to a bastard you can say you don't really care for that makes you cherish it because it's precious to  _him_ ; it's a reminiscent of  _his_  youth and that makes you love it that much more.

His eyes, cold metallic grey, never look at anything the way they look at you and within them you know that he knows this isn't forever; what you have probably won't lastbut  _you_  hope for it to be. He pushes you away, does anything he can to fight the inevitable.  _You're a dreamer_ , he says,  _so just quit fucking dreaming and grow the fuck up already_. You didn't think his words would burn so much, and you definitely didn't think they'd slice through you like the sharp edge of a blade.

 _It's your stupid disposition, idiot,_ Gokudera tells you. _It's because you have too much blind faith in everything. You'll never be taken seriously if you can't just grow the fuck up and act your age. You still see everything as one big fucking joke._

And maybe you do, but it isn't wrong to want, it isn't wrong to  _hope_. It definitely isn't wrong to love, even if he's a man and you're a man and the other man he used to belong to wants to see you dead.

Because when he's writhing underneath you, voice hoarse while he calls your name like he's angry with the world and high off ecstasy all at the same time; when you're deep inside him and his pale skin and flowing white hair wrap around you like he's all the comfort you'll ever need; when you see the rage in Xanxus' eyes because it's  _his_ shark you're fucking, well... you've never felt so  _alive a_ nd that is the power behind your youth. You'll always feel young so long as he's by your side because he is the source to your vitality.

* * *

 

It's the day your _Sky_  splits wide open, the day you learn of his demise that makes you consider everything. He is your friend, the one you owe your youth to, the one you owe your  _life_ to. Time stands still, stagnant and decaying and you're suddenly unsure of everything.

You know that change is necessary to move on but the path Gokudera is on is self destructive and Xanxus leads the war and  _he_ follows because he's always been devoted wholeheartedly to that man and you are left alone at a fork in the road and nothing makes any sense.

You feel the youth slip through your fingers slow like strands of Squalo's pearly white hair and this is the day your synapses snap like brittle branches underfoot. You join your family in it's quest for revenge, you join Gokudera on that long road home and that very short ride to hell.

Except some of them know when to stop, they all have their voice of reason but you can't seem to curb the bloodlust, you just make it last a little longer. You enjoy the taste it leaves on your tongue, bitter and remorseful but wildly satisfying. Gokudera is long gone, he was the first to go and you knew it was going to happen. There was no way he was going to stick around without Tsuna and you expected him to go out with a bang but you didn't think it'd hurt so _damned_ much. He's gone and dead and so are many others and everything crumbles and falls at your feet and you think once upon a time you believed in a fairytale but your naivety has made you susceptible to heartbreak and in turn has created this monster.

It's the way your blade sinks through their flesh, easy like butter and it's the intoxicating scent of blood and desolation that replaces the smell of your childhood that age you beyond your years. It's the way the corpses pile up -- and oh  _god_ , there's so many at the mercy of your hands -- but yet it never seems to fill the void left behind by the friends that aren't by your side anymore. Everything is empty and gone and hollow and the only time you have life is when you're taking another and you  _like_ it that way, you like everything the way it is right in this moment. Dead and gone and nothing but rot. And Gokudera would laugh inside your head and say _An eye for an eye, you dirty fucking bastards._

But Squalo is there, with that smirk on his face as he impales the last of your enemies, with the maroon flecks that colour his hair while it blows in the wind exquisite and all the more divine -- like a fucking  _deity_  -- and you know you see him as such. It's  _his_ arms that you find the warmth in, it's his heart that you seek solace from. It's Squalo's turn to drag you off of that ledge and threaten your life if youdon't _keep_ _some_ _shred_ _of_ _fucking_ _humanity_ _,_ _you shitty piece of_ _trash_ _._

* * *

 

You feel like now when he kisses you and leaves you breathless that he's sucked out the last bit of your soul and that's okay because if anyone deserves it, it's him because he's still here -- he's still fucking  _here_  and half the time you don't even see him. It's in the moments he takes you aside and beats the shit out of you and the sense into you that makes you open your eyes. And then he lets you fuck him raw like there's no tomorrow -- because let's face it, there probably won't be. It's when he turns to you and says you've aged a hundred years since first meeting you and it's then you tell him you've loved him just as long. It's then he tells you that you're disgusting but you see the lie reflected in those steel eyes and for the first time in a long time, you laugh.

The fingers on his good hand map the laugh lines on your face, trace over the puckered scar on your chin and finally rest over your heart and he tells you that if you don't stop this recklessness you're going to die and in not so many words, it's a plea to stay young and alive and to feel -- feel  _him_  -- and you know that he's right. You know that you've already lost so many friends and you know how it feels and neither is a fate you want him to suffer.

You still enjoy the kill, that will never leave you because it's who you  _are_ but you won't be guileless anymore. You will just  _live_  in his light because it's the only thing that keeps you free.

You smile when you kiss him and laugh when he tugs at your lip with his teeth. You tear off his clothes like you're hungry and impatient and against his alabaster skin you tell him,

"Don't tell me my youth is running out; it's only just begun."

He swallows the bubble of laughter that rises out of your throat with a kiss that tastes just a little like rejuvenation.


End file.
